


All Hail

by fresne



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, But possibly stuck on one perspective, Gen, Portia being badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Stoic Antiochus of Ascalon had said, "Happiness consists in a virtuous life, but it is not independent of external things."</p><p>It was by this motto that Portia lived her life. The good of the Republic above all else.</p><p>While the ladies of the Moirai salon had always worked to do more than merely spin and sew and cut the thread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavenderfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderfrost/gifts).



> This forms a sort of tryptic. Hmmm... to backup, after lavenderfrost did such a wonderful recording of "After She Wakes" - [go listen to it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4399865)), I asked if she had any unfilled prompts. Three (okay more than that, but this is what came out) stories caught my fancy. Titantia (contemporary of Theseus and therefore ancient history), Portia the not-so-secret-badass, and Beatrice's reasons for avoiding marriage in Much Ado. Well, and as you may be able to tell the witches of Macbeth. Or rather, tripled goddesses, which infused the three works, and why there's three.
> 
> This is the Portia story, which came down a bit more critical of Portia than I expected. Philosophy can be like that. 
> 
> Hope it delivers on the idea that there need to be more stories with Shakespearean Ladies getting their due out there.
> 
> Characters:  
> Depending on how one sees the world either:  
> -Servilia Caepionis, a patrician of Rome, mother to Tertulla, founding member of the Moirai, daughter of Livia Drusa, Aunt to Portia  
> -Cornelia Cinna Minor (deceased), a patrician of Rome, founding member of the Moirai, daughter of Cinnilla Annia  
> -Tertulla, a patrician on Rome, daughter of Servilia Caepionis.  
> -Pompeia Magna, a patrician of Rome, daughter of Murcia Tertia  
> -Terentia Major, wealthy plebeian, founding member of the Moirai, daughter of Terentii Varrona  
> Made up to complete the set:  
> -Terentia Minor, niece of Terentia Major, a wealthy plebeian  
> -Publilia, a patrician of Rome, ward to Terentia Major  
> -Quinta, a patrician of Rome, descended from the Sabines  
> -Abelia, a patrician of Rome, heir to a wealthy estate
> 
> or
> 
> -Servilia Caepionis, mother to Brutus, former lover of Julius Caesar, half-sister of Cato Minor  
> -Cornelia Cinna (deceased), sister of Cinna, Caesar's first wife  
> -Tertulla, wife of Cassius, and Brutus' half-sister (possibly Caesar's daughter)  
> -Pompeia Magna, wife of Cinna, and daughter to Pompey  
> -Terentia Major, Cicero's first wife  
> Made up to complete the set:  
> -Terentia Minor, wife to Publius Servilius Casca Longus  
> -Publilia, who was married to Cicero, then married to Cimber Metellus, upon Metellus' request  
> -Quinta, sister to Caius Ligarius, tends him in his sickbed.  
> -Abelia, ward to Caius Trebonius.
> 
>  
> 
> The following may be considered as inspiration for my work and inspiration for my dialogue:  
> WS, Julius Ceasar  
> WS, Macbeth

Portia sat as far from the fire currently warming the salon against the chill of early spring as was reasonable. Moreover, unlike the other women in the room, she had not swathed herself in woollen scarves, but sat bare armed to better train herself to endure discomfort. Her Brutus had admired the plucked pallor of her bare arms that very morning. She supressed a smile. It was for his philosophy that she had first fallen in love with him. Even when they were still wed to others, theirs had been pure love that flowed from correct judgement, and was therefore entirely attuned to a Stoic life. Not the corruption of Greek withdrawal, but a fully Roman engagement. As the Stoic Antiochus of Ascalon had said, "Happiness consists in a virtuous life, but it is not independent of external things."

Pompeia Magna, wife of Cinna and daughter to Pompey, and wrapped in an almost Epicurean number of blankets, said, "You're smiling into your philosophy again, Portia."

Terentia Major, Cicero's first wife, fed more wool to her spindle. "So, what if she is. Servilia Caepionis, Cornelia Cinna and I didn't name this salon Moirai because all we do here is spin and sew. Cornelia Cinna, may Proserpina grant her pleasant hours in the world below, was Caesar's left hand. While I took more interest in Cicero's political affairs than I ever let him take interest in managing our household."

Publilia, Cicero's ward and second wife, who was holding the wool that Terentia was presently spinning, laughed. "Mother, you are the reason I was never allowed to manage more than the purchase of goods for my kitchen when I was Cicero's wife." She bumped her shoulder against Terentia's. The women were especially close. 

Terentia rolled her eyes at this old argument. "Lamb, I am the reason Cimber Metellus begged Cicero to put you aside so he could marry you." Terentia Major winked at Publilia, never pausing in her work at her spindle.

Portia's aunt and mother-in-law sniffed and stabbed the cloth in her embroidery hoop. "Well, I think that perhaps Portia should be spending a little more time focused on matters at hand than losing her eyesight over dusty texts. Why my son ever set aside his first wife to take up with…"

Terentia Minor, Terentia's niece and wife to Publia Casca, reached over the table and rapped Portia's aunt's hand with a spindle. "Servilia Caepionis, however unsettled the day, quiet the asp on your tongue. You know the rules in Moirai better than any. Let the men be at discord. Our goal here is to work out how we may weave for the betterment of Rome. Why else would Caesar's wife and Caesar's lover have sat down together in accord with Pompey's daughter to weave between them some sort of fragile peace?" She clucked her tongue meaningfully.

Portia wrote on her tablet, "Caesar is praised for his mercy and generosity, while Cato Minor for his discipline and moral integrity. No moral mind can doubt, which is the better for constancy. Further, it is no sin to public duty for a righteous man to die rather than live under tyranny." She eyes prickled again with the pride she felt when her brother had brought her word of their father's noble death rather than live under a tyrannical state.

She did this in silence. 

Portia did not speak to her aunt. 

Portia's aunt had not spoken a kind word to her since Portia's sweet Brutus had divorced his first wife so he could marry Portia. Waiting only for the death of Portia's first husband fighting her aunt's sometimes lover, their present dictator for life. 

Her aunt's lips curled. "Fine. Then let us speak of today, not yesterday. Just yesterday, my cook told me that she saw a lion and a wolf walking calmly down the streets of Rome. That is the state our city is in. When all we do here is talk and read and spin. We cut more thread than we ever get anything accomplished."

Pompeia Magna shivered and moved closer to the fire. "My porter said that he saw the slave that carries heavy loads for Crassus, the butcher, walking through the market with his left hand on fire as if it were twenty torches. Though it burned him not."

Portia did not look up from where she looking something up in Cato the Elder. She made a note amid all the others on her wax tablet. Crassus the butcher or Crassus-Triumvir, butcher of the Republic had a nice ring to it. Just as, "What Sulla could do, so Pompey. What Pompey, so Caesar," had a rhythm that she knew would have set her Father to smiling.

Tertulla, Brutus' sister, said softly, as she always did, "I… I saw something more amazing than that. While I was walking by the field of Mars," a remark that set Pompeia Magna to coughing, and inspired Tertulla to send a quick apologetic glance at Portia, who pretended not to see it. "Of course, I was not going to see the false triumphs being held there by Caesar over another Roman citizen. Because that would be… not right." This was pitched in Portia's direction. She then whispered to Quinta, the sister to Caius Ligarius, "They were re-enacting a naval battle on the flooded field, which was a marvel to behold." She bit her lip to keep from further panegyrics. 

Portia's aunt scowled at her embroidery hoop. "Speak up Tertulla, and stop whispering. You should stop minding old rumours. Caesar may be your father, but his triumph is not yours and never will be. More's the pity now that the old goat's moved on to much trampled Egyptian pastures." 

Terenita Minor waved her spindle at Portia's aunt. "Servilia Caepionis, one more remark and I'll invite the Queen of Egypt here myself." She turned to Tertulla, "Never mind your mother, you have me ablaze with curiosity. What did you see?" 

Tertulla swallowed and her voice rose up to its highest point. "I saw some thousand men on fire walk up and down the streets of Rome. I was not alone. I was with some hundred other women, in the um… march in um… honor of… Ves…," she swallowed, "um…Vestia. We all saw it. The sight turned us all grey with fear."

Portia's expression did not change. She wished that she had been there to confront these burning men and learn what they were about. She'd not have been afraid, down to thrusting her hand into the fire. She'd tested herself so a thousand ways every day.

Abelia, Caius Trebonius's ward, clearly not wanting to be left out, said, "Our gardener said he heard that oaks that have stood since the founding of Rome were ripped from the ground by a great wind." She nodded. "The gods themselves are angry with the mortals of Rome.

Young Quinta, who had been quiet all the while knitting a blanket for her brother in his sickbed, said, "Portia, you have studied these things. What do you think it all means?"

Portia put down her stylus. "I cannot know without seeing. I will go out to see for myself." The women in the salon protested, but Portia was Cato's daughter and Brutus' wife. 

In the end it was her aunt, who said, "Oh, let her go. Nothing could ever stop her when her mind was set on it." Then her aunt exclaimed as she stabbed herself upon her needle and must act quickly so as not to bleed upon her embroidery.

Portia left them to their bleeding discussions. Philosophy required action.

She went out into the familiar streets made unfamiliar. She passed images that should have been robed for Lupercalia, disrobed by Murellus and Flavus to silence Caesar's false triumph, who were themselves put to silence by Rome's dictator for life. She could not fault them for their Republican feeling.

Portia walked swiftly and with purpose towards the temple of the Vestals. There was no better place to augur the state of Rome.

On her brisk way, she chanced to walk through the square of Jupiter, where a crowd was gathered. The sort of mob that tribunes spun this way and that. Plebians at the mercy of passion. She did not veer in her path. She walked straight through the shouting crowd. 

As she went, it seemed to her that she saw three women, and by her studies, she knew them.

She saw Anat of Vengeful Destruction with her bared legs crusted up to the knee in dried blood. Her belt dangled with heads and hands as if they were tassels. Anat called out "All hail, Julius and Caesar! Hail to the Consuls of Rome. Where is Marcus Bibulus to read the omens?" 

Portia did not slow in her steps. She called out, "He died a noble Roman death." Her voice did not waver, though it was hardly heard over the din.

Even as she spoke, Anat held up the curving horns of her bow and let loose an arrow to set mad courage in the hearts of beardless men. Their faces so bland as to have no difference one from the other in Portia's eyes.

Portia slowed then to look around to find Anat's sister, who in Egypt would be called Qetesh, She Who Suckles a Grudge. Portia's lip curled to think of what miasma the Queen of Egypt, presently crouched in Caesar's villa outside of Rome, could have brought from her Nile to so taint the streets of Rome.

Qetesh crouched behind soldiers, who had not been granted fields to retire after their service because the Senate was too entangled in debate to vote for their granting. Qetesh called out. "All hail, Caesar! Hail to the Triumvir of Rome and Trimvir no longer." Her silver needle glinted under the sun's pricking rays. Qetesh stitched the flag of suffering clutched in a veteran's hands and shoved him gently from the bench where he sat.

"All hail, Caesar! Hail to the Dictator of Rome. Caesar not King." Astarte, who in Canaan was known as the Queen of Stars, laughed in a rolling boom of pounding feet. 

Portia stood face to face with her in challenge, even as men tossed crowns of grass upon statues of Jupiter, chanting, "Hail, Caesar."

The birds of night circled the square and made their calls, though it was mid-day. Portia chased them from the square.

Portia had seen enough. She said to herself, "Though I am no Epicurian, there is some justice in their creed that there is no living pleasantly without living a good and just life. They define the highest good of pleasure, as freedom from pain, and tyranny is inimical to that freedom. When Stoic and Epicurean agree, there can be no other course."

Though by her sex, she'd been barred from public discourse, she was a member of the Moirai of long standing. She had a Roman's heart. Had she not done as her Father had done. Had she not subjected herself to every exercise, endured cold and rain, only ate when it was necessary and drank watered wine.

Where her Father had failed, it was in that he'd supported one tyrant over another. She'd return to the salon and water their ears with all the rhetorical force that her Father had granted her. Even down to sowing seeds in her Aunt's ears. When those seeds were luxuriant in growth, she'd speak with her sweet Brutus to urge him to action.

If as she left the square of Jupiter, the Vestals temple quite forgotten, she did not note that all three women called after her, "Beware the Ides of March," it was because she was already intent upon her objective.

The preservation of freedom required urgent action.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing style, check out my profile for more information on writing.


End file.
